I thought of peacocks when I first saw him. He was wearing a mesmerizing shade of the deepest, richest blue.
Very few men can do the traditional Indian sherwani justice. It simply demands a tall, well-built frame, wonderfully broad shoulders and a waist that screams for female hands to slink their arms around it.
The silver-eyed hoor who captured my ever-wandering imagination was evidently one of these much-admired few.
The upper garment glimmered the way only rich cloth is capable of glimmering and glittered the way only the very expensive glitter.
I was fascinated although I don’t think he registered my constant gaze.
I was rooted and hooked. My friends tugged at my sleeves. There’s a sale going on in Lace. Let’s go check out those adorable demi-cups we saw the other day!
Not today. You girls carry on. There’s something I need to check out. I’ll meet you’ll later… maybe at the food court? Nods from the brassiere-fanatics were all that registered as I inched my way towards him through the growing throng.
That he was built to make women take a second look and men grudgingly admire was apparent. It was enough to make me pause and take stock of my current options and the infinite possibilities.
I wanted to peel that layer of exotic richness off those broad shoulders. Feel the smooth contours that I knew were hiding beneath them.
I wondered how his lips would feel. Cold, no doubt. But I’m sure I would have been able to warm them up.
He would hold me in turn. Those strong hands and cool fingertips alternatively digging into my waist and lightly caressing the curves towards it’s base.
I would gasp perhaps, or maybe respond by pressing closer to him, to feel him swell in a wild rush. A nip at the base of his neck and I might perhaps be able to draw out a rumble in a sexy baritone. Enough to make us both wetter than we already were.
His fingers would rake the length of my back, subtly marking spots his lips and teeth would later kiss and bruise. I would be a bundle of aching nerve endings by then and would try to end it all and take things faster by tugging at his hair and drawing his lips…
Miss? Is there anything in particular you are looking for?
I retraced my steps.
If only mannequins were real men.
4 Comments
December 21, 2009 at 11:47 AM
If only… :) unless of course, the four letter L-word happens and that one man starts looking like the mannequin nevertheless :P
December 23, 2009 at 12:04 AM
Haha that would be perfect!
February 25, 2010 at 12:53 PM
Din like the end!
you painted a Bella beginning to your Edward and thankfully matured as you advanced in the write-up. A crescendo was being sought, with flaring temperatures breaking the meter, was an anti-climax though. Alas!
February 25, 2010 at 3:03 PM
Hmm… I never saw it from a Twilight pov. Unusual view.
And every story can’t end in an explosive climax si? ;) Thanks for stopping by though. Appreciate the feedback. I hope I can count on more honest views from you.